Trying to Make the World Count
by Aliada
Summary: Nice days seem so rare, and yet Tilly can't always resist the temptation to count them. What if she discovers that there are times when counting isn't at all about numbers?
1. Chapter 1

It was a nice day. Well, at least it wasn't disastrous, and it was as much as anyone could hope for while being around Tilly.

"You should play with me"

Weaver sighed and tore his eyes away from the paper he was working on.

"I hear this the third time today"

Tilly looked at him with feigned innocence, and it could probably work with others (like Rogers) but he was too steeped in the art of manipulation to know the difference.

"This is called sentence',

Weaver made sure that the look he sent her was foreboding enough - too bad it didn't seem to influence Tilly much, not since their second meeting. Or was it the first?

"Anyway, I'm just waiting for…"

"Detective Rogers. Yes, I know, you didn't fail to repeat that sentence either."

"Actually, detective Rogers isn't a sentence, it's…"

This time Weaver's look took the desired effect. There were times when even his past could come in handy.

He got back to his papers and realized that, thanks to the life-and-death important interruption, the thought was lost.

Tilly didn't seem too happy, either.

Her puzzle let out a few screeching sounds.

Weaver cleared his throat.

The screeching stopped and tuned into insistent thumping.

This wasn't going well. This wasn't going well at all.

Where was that damn Rogers anyway?

* * *

"So have you found anything?"

"Apart from Tilly, not much. Or wait, was that you?"

"Well, technically it was you."

Tilly let out a chuckle. Well, that was entertaining.

"How about you both agree that I found you?"

The look they both gave her sent her into a new fit of chuckles.

She knew that they didn't like agreeing on stuff, but that was alright. Some skills required time, and she had a feeling that they would be having plenty of it in the days to come.

* * *

'Plenty' ended up being not nearly enough, but the feeling still hadn't left her. And it was a good sign. Or so she thought.

Anyway, these were nice days. For Tilly, nice days usually consisted of marmelade, troll, a bit of chess and long, tiring walks. Now everything changed, though. Those things weren't enough anymore. They were her routine - something to keep her sane, to reason with her when she got too upside-down. They were her tether. Tether to the world.

And they used to be strong. Now, though, their strength seemed to magically vanish. A better thing could substitute a good one, she guessed. It was logical.

But logic couldn't in any way explain what she was going through.

Roger's painfully sincere smiles couldn't either. But it didn't mean she didn't drink them in as if she was dying of thirst. Sometimes she was indeed dying. Sometimes she didn't even mind it. Not much. But those 'sometimes' were almost non-existent now.

 _'I don't know if I have a tether to the world, but I_ _do_ _have this.'_

Tilly smiled at the beautiful irony of it. He was right. He didn't _have_ a tether to the world - he _was_ it.

He made those 'sometimes' disappear. He made her want to forget them, to store them in her memory and lock them away with the hope of getting rid of them for good someday. He made her face go hot with a few disapproving remarks on her sometimes (often?) reckless behavior. He made her hide her eyes with his heartwarmingly genuine praises. He filled her insides with scaldingly hot embarrassment over the fact that she was still having those poisonous thoughts. In fact, she ached to reaveal, to share them, but then the worst of it would be gone and the only thing she'd remember would be his smile. His smile. No adjective seemed fit enough to describe it, and she wasn't going to try. Some things weren't meant to be put into words. Maybe some day, she'd find the right word, but quite honestly, she hoped that day would never come.

And now that marmalade, chess and lonely food-hunt walks became routine and her days actually gained some meaning, the possibility of a finale (whatever it might be) seemed even more frightening. In such moments, she'd be torn between the desire to never leave Rogers out of sight and be as far away from him as possible. The second urge actually gave her shivers and made her thoughts even more jumpy than before. But then she'd see him smile and everything would be alright again. Their days would grow and expand, like yeasty cakes, until they turned into incomprehensible blur. At this point, she stopped counting them because it would be the same thing as counting stars in the sky.

She tried it once but her father told her it wasn't something people could, or should, know. She didn't even remember his face or his voice and yet she remembered the words as if they were spoken a few days ago.

 _'I want to count all the stars in the sky. Do you think I could?'_

 _'My girl can do everything she puts her mind to. But this is a tiresome task, love, and ungrateful one.'_

 _'Did YOU ever count the stars?'_

There were times when his laugh was the only thing keeping her sane and now she could barely remember what it sounded like.

 _'Yes, I did. A long long time ago. But I was glad I couldn't reach the end.'_

 _'But why? You told me that the more numbers I know the cleverer I'll be.'_

 _'Did I really say that?'_

Tilly thinks she giggled then, probably because he was tickling her. It was a favorite practce of his to get her to confess to some harmless crimes she committed. This time the crime was called 'fibbing'.

 _'No!'_

 _'What did I say?'_

 _Tilly let out a huff and shook_ _her head stubbornly. The tickling didn't_ _stop._

 _His laughing eyes put a big smile on her face_ _,_ _even though she want_ _ed_ _to look sulky and determined. She d_ _idn't_ _exactly know what the last word meant but she like_ _d_ _the sound of it._

 _'What did I say, love?'_

 _Now papa's voice sounded as if he was trying to sing. Usually it meant that he was in a good mood and wanted to play._

 _Tilly giggled then. This time from something that began with a... probably 'antipation'? 'Antipotion'? No, that sounded wrong. She could ask papa but they had a game to play and it wasn't wise to distract papa from it._

' _Say the words, Tilly.'_

Tilly. Who was Tilly? She closed her eyes and listened, hoping for an answer but no answer came.

'Tilly, are you alright? Tilly?'

Her. It was her. How in the world could she forget about that? _How?_

Her eyes burned from unshed tears but letting them go in earnest seemed even more of a struggle.

'He told me that I had to learn how to count. Numbers. But not stars. Stars should be left alone.'

Roger's eyes turned from confused to sympathetic but she didn't see that.

'You don't want to know how many there are because if you do, you'll have nothing to count anymore. And this is sad.'

'Well, I can assure you that you'll never count all the stars, however hard you try.'

Did he really think she didn't know that?

'Yes, coming from someone who never even looked at the sky.'

Exasperated Rogers was the most entertaining version of Rogers, hands down. So Tilly just sat back and enjoyed. Well, she didn't exactly sit but she definitely enjoyed.

'You do know that it's physically impossible?'

She's not exactly sure, but it should be there somewhere.

'Of course it's possible! Looking doesn't mean actually seeing.'

Not that she'd let him know it.

His sigh seemed to soothe the remaining pain in her chest. Apparently the term 'physcially possible' needed some serious expanding and she couldn't wait to tell Rogers all about it.

In the end, she might not have plenty of days but sometimes it just wasn't about the numbers.

And _this_ kind of 'sometimes' didn't give her a panic attack for a change


	2. Chapter 2

It was one of those nice days. Apart from the fact that she had a feeling.

There were all sorts of feelings - good and bad, and strange - but never this. Tilly shook her head, trying to get rid of the fog, but it was still there, nagging and cutting. She didn't dare to hope for help. It never seemed quite _on the books_. Not for her.

Usually it didn't upset her. It did earlier, but she learned to shut it off. Today, though, she was too small to resist its pull.

Small, or…

Tilly threw a look at him. No, at them. Rogers and Weaver. They were standing close and their lips were moving. Discussing something.

 _He_ seemed tired. Tired and determined. Just like Weaver, but plus the tired part. Weaver seemed… Her thoughts suddenly jumped and ran into another direction. She had to follow.

Tired and determined. And a bit sad. Once she forbade herself calling him sad, but today wasn't meant for rules. Surely he'd understand this.

'How about a match?'

She smiled at him and her smile felt surprisingly genuine.

He sighed and made an exasperated gesture. She knew the answer before she heard it.

'I know, detective. Sorry.'

When she turned around and forced a first step, she realized that sometimes miracles were just in her head.

'Tilly, wait!'

She didn't stop because she didn't think she could bear the same move once again. It was better to face the right direction from the start.

'It's not the right direction, Tilly. I promise."

Did she say it out loud?! Her clearly warming cheeks make her forget about the steps, and his sad expression, and everything else on earth.

His hand on her shoulder. A gentle, yet delightfully insistent pull. Other things failed to make any sense.

She battled with the urge to look around. To check.

The urge wasn't too strong, though, because there was only one direction in which she wanted to look. She could add 'right now' but it felt wrong as well. 'Right now' was far too short for her. And she could only hope that he felt the same way.

The pressure on her shoulder intensified and she let herself obey.

The remains of her thoughts scattered all over the place, and her flushing face felt positively in flames.

She also heard Weaver smirk in the distance and she wondered if it was at all possible to be more embarrassed at one point at a time.

"Is IT the right direction, detective?" she wondered, cockily.

He gave her a mock frown making it impossible to fight giggles that threatened to escape.

'I'm a detective, as you rightly pointed out, and detectives…'

'... always pick the right direction, I know.'

In fact, she didn't know that at all, but with him no other option seemed possible.

'Actually, there was one detective who used to choose wrong directions.'

Weaver. Apparently, today wasn't meant for exercising self-control. And that thought alone nearly made her choke with laughter.

Rogers frowned at both of them, and serenity finally embraced her - this cozy sense of belonging she could no more escape.

But now, as she looked at them again, 'cozy' was as far from her mind as humanly possible. On the contrary, it was anything but.

It was prickling her, needling her, pushing her and pulling her at the same time. It was making her small and big so quickly that her mind stopped recording anything but those stages in-between that didn't really tell you anything but made you feel things all the more vividly.

And 'cozy' was definitely _not_ one of those things.

But she wanted it to be, and this desire was more than she could handle.

'Tilly, are you okay?'

Was she? Earlier she'd say she was because it was the answer everyone expected. Everyone.

Everyone wasn't safe, or understanding. Everyone treaded carefully with imagination. And she… she could never resist its pull.

Saying 'yes' while meaning 'yes' was an unattainable luxury most of the time, it still was a luxury now but she felt like she could afford it. One step at a time, but she could.

'Sometimes yes.'

Sometimes. Rogers smiled, and it was one of those smiles he couldn't control. Not a good kind.

When she looked at Weaver, his determined expression was gone revealing something else - something that was almost uncomfortable to see. And yet, it felt right - exactly right.

'Let's go and get you something to eat.'

Indignation in her voice was only partly a pretense. Seriously, did they think she doesn't eat at all?

'You look hungry.'

'Well, Mr. Weaver, I have to admit your deductions are correct'.

Out of all things she did, wrong name-calling seemed to annoy him most, so she simply couldn't miss this chance.

'It's detective, and by the way the second part of your sentence heavily implies it.'

"No, it doesn't.'

It was arguing for the sake of arguing, and they both knew that .

"I only said that your deductions are correct, but I didn't say anything about them being right'

For a moment, she saw something else in him, something she'd forgotten he had. He used to have many things, and she had trouble remembering all of them.

For half a moment, she regretted having said those words, and this also felt familiar. Too damn familiar.

She blinked fighting tears and caught his uncharacteristically mild look.

'I'm not angry, Tilly. And you're right. Sometimes being correct doesn't mean being right. And I can't claim that I've followed this knowledge flawlessly.'

The last words were no louder than a whisper. But she heard them, and, even more devastatingly, seemed to understand them.

She didn't have to look at Rogers to know what would happen next.

'What the hell are you talking about?'

She longed to tell him everything, but she didn't herself know what 'everything' was. The only thing she was certain of was that she wanted to share. She didn't want to live in her small world anymore, not when she'd found something better, and brighter.

'But I'm both correct and right when I say that you've not eaten a single thing today and will most probably drop unconscious if Rogers doesn't give you that sandwich he'd been carrying around for three hours already. By my count at least. '

Now Tilly wasn't sure how to deal with an unexpected wave of affection that threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn't even decide what got her most - the fact that Weaver helped her to get rid of that knot in her chest or the fact that he gifted her with an embarrassed Rogers. The exasperated version might be the most entertaining - Tilly wasn't at all ready to deny that - but a Rogers who was hiding his eyes and mumbling excuses came dangerously close. Maybe one day she wouldn't be able to decide at all. The possibility seemed a bit daunting. But the happy kind of daunting. Definitely the happy kind. And if she was completely honest, with Rogers there wasn't any other.

'Yes, the sandwich _you_ bought and made me carry.'

Well, it wasn't just 'not daunting', it was absolutely hilarious as well. Tilly tried to suppress the fit of laughter but failed after the approximate amount of three seconds.

Perhaps Rogers _could_ be a bit daunting after all.

She tucked into the stuff excitedly listening to the grumbling sound in her stomach.

They both gave her a look.

'It's a natural reaction, detectives. Nothing to be concerned about.'

They didn't look overly concerned, though. There was… something else.

'You're going to have a proper dinner tonight.'

Weaver. Always straight to the point. She liked that about him. She wasn't sure she liked the suggestion, though.

'Proper, as in?'

'I don't think detective Wevaer is aware of what 'proper dinner' means, either.

Weaver's look could cut stone. But Tilly wasn't concerned about stone. Not really.

'This sandwich is delicious, detective.'

By the look they gave her she realized that she should've probably said 'detectives' instead.

'And since I'm not hungry anymore I think we could find something more interesting to do.'

 _…than argue about who gets the meaning of a 'proper dinner'_. She didn't say the last bit out loud, but in her thoughts, she meant it no less than the first part. 'Proper dinners' were boring anway. And why do something boring if you could do something exciting?

That evening she was seated in a fancy cafeteria with a full plate of 'proper dinner', as they were so keen on calling it.

Sometimes Tilly hated proper things. But this time, 'proper' felt suspiciously like home.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N._ _Weaver's POV. The previous chapters were focusing on Tilly and her relationship with Rogers. In the final chapter, though, my main purpose was to 'put them into perspective' so to speak, and Weaver seemed like the best man for the job (I mean, who else could do it properly? :D). I also tried to explore his feelings for Killian, which was a fun thing to do. Contradictory at times, but fun._

 _Weaver's POV_

Tilly looked happy. It was even worth the endless dinner accompanied by the even more endless chatter.

Tilly liked to talk about all kinds of things and strangely enough, he didn't mind.

But the most important thing was, neither did Rogers.

Rogers. Their past was so colorful that it was nearly impossible to connect all the dots, to remember everything that happened and to weigh the meaning behind every episode.

Sometimes, he would lay awake at night, trying desperately to solve at least one of those tasks but would soon realize that solid analysis didn't really help. Not anymore.

Through the first moments of desperate hope. Up to hurt. Hate. The never-ending cycle of revenge that became his whole life in the process. He tried to think of those things, reevoke these old feelings, make them real again but every one of those attempts got blinded by the baffling reality of Tilly's - Alice's - smile, and the things, so damn real then _,_ simply failed in comparison. And the most baffling thing was, he didn't even want them to return.

"Weaver, do you agree? You have to agree with me, that's really urgent!"

Why would he want that indeed?

He didn't even have the time to sigh before Rogers captured Tilly's attention once again throwing him a 'told-you-so' glance along the way.

Weaver wanted to tell him that _he_ was the one who kept warning them about things (and what did that damn pirate think of himself anyway?) but since Tilly was sufficiently distracted, he decided to give up some ground. For now.

Rogers. Why was it so easier to think of him as 'Rogers'? He knew the answer and yet he couldn't stop himself from asking the question over and over again.

 _The pirate. Hook._ So many names, and yet so little sense. When you hate someone, does their given name even matter? What mattered was your name for them, the way their bad side was reflected in your eyes, and the more lopsided that reflection was, the more hatred it bred. You simply didn't look behind that.

 _Killian Jones_. Still a pirate who took his wife and pushed him to become what he became. Still an enemy who swore to destroy him. And yet, now there was Alice Jones. Alice Jones whose smile lit up the room. Alice Jones whose trust and friendship turned out to be a real miracle just when he thought that any remaining miracles were completely extinct.

 _Rogers_. This name opened up a new page. Partners. Detectives. And a whole lot of other social titles that didn't have any significance whatsoever. Evidently, one could create a fake town of fake titles and that still didn't make them real. However, this time around, it wasn't at all about titles and that was… unexpected.

Tilly would've chosen another word for it, though.

"Detective Weaver, aren't you going to join us?"

He wasn't exactly sure what he was joining but Tilly's grin made it difficult to refuse. So now grins were influencing his behavior. He was progressing nicely, that's for sure.

"Detective Rogers here wants to know if…"

The rest of the sentence was left unspoken, which was a polite way to put it. The real way would be to say that it was cut short with an indignant squeak.

Apparently, Rogers haven't been idle in expressing his opinion on the matter.

"Pushing me under the table where I can't see doesn't mean I can't feel it as well."

Now Rogers seemed to be battling with laughter. Tilly was less amused, though.

"Go on, Tilly. What was that detective Rogers wanted me to know?"

Tilly threw a cautious look at Rogers who, having won the battle, settled on a determined, almost stern expression.

Now Weaver was the one who had to keep the undignified sounds inside, which proved to be much more difficult than he'd expected.

In fact, everything was much more different from what he'd been expecting.

"Do you believe in Henry's book?"

Her tone was serious now, too serious too feel comfortable about lying, even if it was for their sakes.

"Do I believe in its existence? I held it in my hands, so yes, I'd definitely say I do."

Fortunately, the lack of skill was never from the luck of experience. Not in his case anyway.

The almost desperate expression in Tilly's eyes made him feel uncharacteristically guilty, and he didn't like it one bit.

Fake words came out so much easier with someone he had no real feelings for. And he had to admit that Tilly wasn't one of those people. Far from it.

"If I told you that it was all true, would you believe me?"

She nodded her head quickly, as if afraid he was going to withdraw the offer.

"Well, the problem is, my belief isn't enough."

He didn't look at Rogers when he said those words but Rogers certainly looked at him.

"What does that even mean?"

He swallowed a sigh and tried to summon a bit of patience.

"Exactly what I said."

He risked a sideway glance at Tilly and it was one of the most justified risks he'd ever taken.

"I know exactly what he means."

Rogers looked lost for a moment. Tilly's smile might not have been enough to convince him - yet - but the main chunk of the road was already behind and that couldn't count for nothing.

Tilly felt it, he could tell. And so did Rogers, even if he didn't quite remember it yet.

"All right. This will probably require some coffee." Rogers lifted his eyebrows in a silent question.

Tilly nodded happily. As if she had not had enough of it already. Rogers seemed to share the sentiment, which led to another five-minute bickering. And alarmingly enough, he found that he didn't mind that one bit.

Eventually they settled on coffee for two them and a glass of juice for Tilly. Convincing wasn't such a hard thing after all, you just needed to show your authority in the right places. And Rogers was getting quite good at that, surprisingly good in fact.

Rogers looked just as surprised at that himself. And so did Tilly.

This was going to be quite entertaining, he decided.

Joining in never did him much good in the past but now… now it didn't sound half bad.

It was a nice day. And Weaver had a feeling none of them would say otherwise.


End file.
